


Angel of Thursday

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Love from afar, M/M, Obsession, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obsessive Compulsive Dean has a very specific routine. The video blogger Castiel updates each Wednesday night, and Dean spends breakfast enjoying watching him on his laptop every Thursday morning. And every other morning too. </p><p>Prompted anonymously on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursdays

"I still have no idea why you people consume my thoughts."

"I have no idea either," Dean mumbled through his bite of cereal at the man on his laptop.

It was a morning ritual. Dean liked routines. They made him happy. Every morning was the same. He fell out of bed at 6:25, stepped into the bathroom, he used the toilet, washed his hands, then he brushed his teeth. Then he brushed his teeth again, and washed his hands. After that, he got into the shower and washed the rest of him. He masturbated, then washed again. This time, he scrubbed his short hair until it spiked contentedly. He cleaned his face again, and turned the water off. He took his towel, dried himself and stepped out of the shower into the steamy room. He brushed his teeth and combed down his hair, then ran his hands through it so it could do what it wanted to do. Then he shaved if it was Monday or Thursday, and he washed his hands.

At this point, it was either 6:45 or 6:52 depending on whether it was a Monday or Thursday. Either way, he waited until 6:55 to begin dressing in the clothes he had set aside the night before, so that he emerged from his bedroom at precisely 7:00.

He poured himself coffee from his automatic machine and a bowl of cereal, the type of which was deliberately varied according to the day of the week. On weekends, he made bacon and eggs instead. But the weekends were completely different animals.

Once he had his food set out and his laptop open, he washed his hands at the kitchen sink and sat down to enjoy his breakfast.

This was his favorite time of the day.

Technically, Castiel only put out a video every Wednesday at 7pm, but Dean watched it every morning at 7:15 until the next one posted a week later. On weekends, he mixed things up by watching archived videos. But it was Thursday today, and that meant new material.

Castiel ended every video with the same shake of the head and claim that he didn't understand why people continued to spend time watching him. Dean wasn't sure when he had begun answering Castiel aloud, but now it was part of the routine.

Some days he explained to poor Castiel that he was hilarious, that he was exactly the right combination of awkward and adorable with so much incredible sarcastic snark. Other days, he told him that it was the way his hair won't lay properly, the way he squinted those amazing eyes, the way he licked those sweet lips. Sometimes, he informed Castiel that it was really the fact that he's brilliant in every sense of the word. Then there were days like today.

"I have no idea," he repeated. "No clue why I do this to myself every damn morning. You know, Cas, I wonder if you realize there are people out there who watch you every single day. I can't be the only one. You have way too many followers for that."

He stood to rinse his dish and spoon, then place them in the dishwasher. He stared into it for a moment, convincing himself it was okay to leave them there until he had at least a few more items to add. It was wasteful to run the dishwasher for a bowl and a spoon. They could sit and wait. He rinsed all his dishes, but he wasn't supposed to do them by hand anymore. Dr. Anael had been alarmed when his hands had been worn raw at his appointment after the last time he had scrubbed a pot. He had chosen not to tell her about the time they had bled while he cleaned a cast iron skillet into oblivion.

He closed the dishwasher with a sigh, and brought his mind back to Castiel. Not that it needed much prompting. The guy had been beautiful this time. He was always easy on the eyes, but this...this video was excruciating. He had been dressed all in black, with his blue backdrop, and his sex hair was all at odds with physics, and his face had been so perfect, with just a hint of stubble, and then in the middle of the video, he had reached for something, and his shirt had hitched up, and there had been that miracle. Castiel's hipbone, right there, just for Dean.

Dean wasn't CastiTrash like some of the followers, but he had already taken a screenshot of the glorious bare hipbone peeking at him and made it his desktop picture. He wasn't going to post it to the forums or anything. He just liked it for himself. The CastiTrash were all busy speculating about Castiel's "friendship" with the guest in the video, a guy he called Balt. Half of them hated Balt for being so close to their Castiel, and the others were participating in ship wars. Castiel had featured a friend named Hannah a few weeks back, and the fans who thought they had chemistry were at odds with those who were convinced the man was bisexual.

For Dean, none of that mattered. Castiel was there for him, for only him, at breakfast. He lay in bed smiling to himself on Wednesday nights, knowing he would be getting new material in the morning. Let them all watch his videos as they updated.

On Thursday mornings, Castiel was all his.


	2. Brother of a Fanboy

Sam had burst into laughter upon seeing his laptop display. "Dude, you're a freaking mess."

Dean had looked up to find out why he was a mess this time, and immediately flushed scarlet. "You're a mess!" he shouted back.

His brother was chuckling. "You can't even see his face!"

"I know what his face looks like. It's his..." Dean gestures vaguely toward the image on the screen. "His rest of him that I hadn't seen yet."

He knew Sam was still snickering at him. But he let it drop. "Okay, show me what it's doing."

Dean explained as well as he could the way the computer was freezing at inopportune moments, and how slowly it was running.

Sam nodded and set to work.

Dean got up to open the refrigerator door. While Sam was focused on the laptop, he could set to rights the disaster Sam had left behind while getting himself a beer.

He frowned at the odd number. Seven beers. That wasn't even fixable.

"Hey, I took a beer," Sam called absently. "Need me to take another?"

Dean scowled. As if that could repair the damage. Then there would be six, and that wasn't one of the good numbers. But five was, and he supposed if both he and Sam drank one of the remaining seven, they each would have consumed a good number, and left a good number behind. None of this six crap. Dean's mouth went dry as he considered something else. "You're not going to want two more, are you?"

"No. Just the one."

He sighed in relief. Having four left over and having drunk one himself, if Sam had three total...Well, it wasn't going to come to that. He grabbed two bottles, straightened the rest of them properly, and came back to sit with his brother.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Dude, you're clogging up your hard drive with all these videos. I told you. Videos take up so much space! Why aren't you using that external hard drive I got you?"

"I am. As a backup. But then I also back them up here and on flash drives. In case-"

Sam put his hand up. "I know. In case of a fire. Dude, you can't keep triples of everything!"

"Of course not." Three was an unacceptable number. Dean had five of everything.

"Man, are all these...Dean, are all these downloaded videos of that vlogger guy?"

Dean's face was warming again. "Pfft. No," he lied.

"Oh my god. Dean, this is just...this is unhealthy."

He snatched his computer back. "Shut up. You have your favorite shows. I have mine."

Sam was staring at him. "Yeah. Except I have favorite shows. Plural. And friends. Real ones. Not ones I stalk online."

"Screw you. It isn't stalking if the guy posts it himself."

"No, I think there's a point where it's stalking anyway. This point. The point where you are."

Dean sighed. He didn't even have the energy to be angry. He had spent most of the night counting, trying to ease his mind into believing things were getting better.

"Dean?"

"I can't talk to real people, Sammy. Just you, sometimes Sarah. This guy, Castiel, he's the closest I ever get to that. I take and fill orders by email and on the website. I can't even speak on the phone. I can't leave the house except with a week's worth of planning. So what's the danger in one more obsession? I'm not hurting anybody."

Sam put his hands up. "Okay."

"No, don't say it like 'okay.'"

"Okay."

Sam annoyed the hell out of him. But since his brother was literally the last person who could put up with him, he was grateful anyway.

"What are you doing now?" he sighed.

"You don't want to know."

Dean frowned. "No, I really do."

"I'm deleting duplicates."

"What?" he shrieked.

Sam fended off the attack with one hand, and continued his work with the other. "Dude, you can't expect it to keep running-Ow! Jesus, Dean! You're not losing any damn content! I promise!"

Dean hated himself for the whimper. "But if-"

Sam turned to face him finally. "Dean. Look. You know, rationally, you know that if there's a fire, and you lose your laptop, having an extra copy of something on that laptop doesn't make it any more safe. Here's what we're going to do, okay? I'm going to back up your whole hard drive, and keep the backup at my place."

"Thank you," he mumbled.

His brother smiled with relief. "Good. Glad you're okay with that. So stop duplicating everything on this poor computer. Keep it up, and you won't be able to conduct business at all."

Dean nodded miserably.

"And what's this guy's name anyway?"

"Castiel Zanj."

"What the hell kind of name is that?"

"Some of the boards say it's the name of an angel."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right. Okay, big brother. Try this for a week, and see if it's running a little better. When I come next Sunday, I'll get a backup of the whole thing. And I'll replace it each time I come. Acceptable?"

"Yes. Thank you. Bitch."

He received a grin. "Jerk." He swallowed the rest of his beer. "You going to want to wash this before I recycle it?"

Of course he wanted to. But he shook his head. "I don't need to," he muttered.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "Nothing wrong with it if you want to. But glad to hear you don't need to. How is the good doctor anyway?"

"Putting a down payment on a condo, thanks to me."

His brother snorted.

"She's fine," he sighed.

"And?"

"And she thinks the once a week thing is working."

His brother's head peeked out of the kitchen. "Well, that's great! Right?"

"Right. It'll make it that much more humiliating when I have a breakdown and have to start twice-a-weeks again."

"Dude, you're doing great, okay? Last time that happened...that wasn't your fault, man. Of course you needed more help after Dad's crash."

"You didn't."

Sam's face hardened. "Bullshit. You think I was over here every day for you? I was over here because I couldn't stand not to be. And at night, Sarah had to deal with me. Just because I don't pay for help, that don't mean I don't get any. Me coming over every Sunday ain't just for you, you know."

Dean sighed and smiled gratefully. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Okay. I'm going to get back. Sarah's got some things she wants me to move for her at the gallery."

"Thanks again, Sammy."

"Stop thanking me for being your kid brother. Text me if you need anything."

Dean nodded, but did not respond.

***

Sam spent two hours carrying furniture and ridiculously heavy, ornate frames around his wife's gallery. He listened to her instructions patiently. But his mind kept floating back to his brother's confession that this Zanj guy was the closest he had to a real friend outside of Sam and his wife.

So he sat down after his shower, and did a bit of research.

Castiel Zanj was in San Francisco. He produced his show from his own home, and so far as Sam could tell, he had, in the past year, gained enough popularity to quit his day job and support himself through his videos and blogging.

Sam knew a little bit about how to find contact information for people who didn't necessarily want to be found. He was an attorney, and a very successful one.

So when he picked up the phone and dialed, he smirked to himself when he heard the surprised voice.

"Who is this?"

He cleared his throat. "Is this Mr. Zanj?"

"Who is this?"

Sam laughed. "I'll take that as a yes. I'm Sam Winchester of Sanford, Winchester and Zachariah out in Palo Alto."

"You mean...a law firm?"

"Yes, sir. Is this-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm Castiel Zanj. I'm sorry. I don't give this number to anyone. Not even sure how you...Doesn't matter. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Zanj, do you do your own marketing work?"

"Marketing? You mean..." There was a long pause. "Do you mean you want to sponsor the show?"

"I'm considering it. I'm aware of several clients who are interested in some of the things you have to say."

This pause was longer. "I don't-Mr. Winchester, I don't let my underwriters...If you choose to become a sponsor, I'm not willing to change any content, you understand? Most of my sponsors are individuals."

"Sure." Sam sat back in his chair. He winked at Sarah as she walked in. "I've researched your stuff. I'm not interested in you changing anything. And I don't want to know your content in advance. Plausible deniability and all that. What sort of figure are we looking at?"

"The production cost of one week's show is about $1,250."

Sam smirked. "Is it now?"

Castiel hesitated just long enough for Sam to begin laughing. Sarah glanced at him inquisitively. "Well, I-I can usually get it down to a thousand, but depending on guests and-"

"I'll do $1,500, if you'll add in an extra for me."

"I won't change content. You will be listed as a sponsor, with your contact info and web address-"

Sam leaned into his large hand. "I'm not asking for a splash ad or particular content. I'm asking for a favor."

"I don't understand."

"We'll work out details later. But my brother is a fan."

He could hear a smile creep into Castiel's deep voice. "Ooh. I will never get used to hearing that. He wants a shout out on the show?"

"No. God, he'd hate that. And that's hardly worth the money. No. I'd like a video call. Skype, whatever you want to use."

"Um...okay. That's not a big deal."

Sam smiled softly. "It will be to him."

The other man laughed brightly. "That's great. When were you hoping to do this?"

"His birthday is late next week. I can email you a sponsor contract tomorrow, and have payment there the day after I receive it back from you."

"Can't say no to that." He cleared his throat again. "I, um, I'm sorry if I was paranoid about the content thing. I promised myself I'd go back to punching a clock if it came down to selling out."

"I get it. Nice to hear somebody's got strong values. Yours include overpricing your sponsorships when you're talking to attorneys. But we all gotta eat, right?"

There came a sheepish chuckle over the line. "That's what I keep telling myself," he mumbled.

"San Francisco ain't cheap. You should consider coming south of Palo Alto."

"You're kidding, right? Sure. Sponsorship just went up to $6,500."

Sam laughed. He spent a bit of time hashing out a few details, and then he hung up with the object of Dean's ridiculous obsession.

Sarah had her eyebrow raised when he looked up again. "Well? What prank are you pulling on your brother, and how much is it going to cost us?"

Sam grinned. "Not a prank, babe. A birthday present. And it's a write-off. The firm is going to sponsor a small project. No big deal."

"Then why are you smirking like that?"

"Because it'll be a big deal to him."

***


	3. The Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean would hate that there are four chapters to this story. He would have to think of it as two separate stories of two chapters each, put together. Two is a good number.

January 24, 1979. It was an acceptable number, when it was put together the right way. One. Two. Four. One. Nine. Seven. Nine. One and twenty-four was obviously twenty-five, and that was one of the better numbers out there. It was two fives multiplied together, after all, or five fives, or two and five, and two and five were both great numbers. The best, actually. And one times nine times seven times nine was 567, and that was really all right, considering that it started with a five, and six plus seven was thirteen, and that was prime, if nothing else, but also 567 was five, six, seven, consecutively. And that was nice.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked with a laugh.

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing something. I can smell it from across town.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Are you counting?”

“No.”

Sam snorted.

“I’m not,” Dean insisted. “I’m...I’m just…It’s not counting. I’m just...Shut up.”

“You’re a mess.”

“You keep telling me.” He put the phone on speaker so he could put his head in both hands. “Sam, what the hell were you thinking?”

The laugh on the other end of the line was doing nothing to help his stomach. “I was thinking you’ve been fawning over this guy nonstop for who knows how long, and it’s time you two crazy kids got together.”

Dean lowered his head to the table. “Yeah. Except his kind of crazy is raising money for kids in Haiti while calling out hypocrites in the national parties, and my kind of crazy is figuring out how long I can hold my breath in case the house inexplicably fills with smoke.”

“Do you do that?”

“Of course I do that.”

“And?”

“Sixty-three seconds is coincidentally exactly the amount of time it takes me to get to an exit from the furthest point in my house, and the longest I can hold my breath before panic sets in.”

“Nice.”

He knew the answer, but he had to ask it anyway. “Why didn’t you tell me a week ago that you had done this? You give me three hours to get ready? What kind of a monster are you?”

Sam laughed easily. Dean doubted they were actually related. “Dude, come on. If I’d given you any more time than that, you would have spent it throwing up.”

“I did throw up.”

“But you’re not still throwing up. You’d be hospitalized by now if I’d told you even yesterday. What is it about this guy, anyway?”

Dean whimpered into the table. “Aside from sheer beauty and his sex voice?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t want to hear any more.”

There came a pinging on his laptop, and Dean startled badly. “Shit. Shit, that’s him. Go away.”

“I’m not there.”

“You know what I mean!” He ended the call on his phone, and took a deep breath. He wished this were over. He wished he still had three more hours to prepare. He wished he had drown in the shower this morning. Or the one this afternoon. Or the one a half hour ago.

The laptop pinged again.

He took another breath and accepted the video call. Immediately, he hung up.

The horror of what he had done was just settling into his stomach when the pinging began again. Relief and terror filled him, and he felt lightheaded. That was when he realized he wasn’t actually breathing at all anymore.

“Oh, for fuck’s…” He gave a great shiver to loosen his joints, which were aching from being clenched so tightly, and then finally accepted the call. “Hello,” he forced out.

There it was. The beautiful, smiling face he knew from every breakfast he had enjoyed for months...And it was smiling at him.

“Oh, holy shit,” Dean cursed. “You’re Castiel Zanj.”

The young man grinned at him in amusement. “Yeah. Wrong guy? Your brother said you were a fan. Did he get it wrong? Were you expecting Markiplier?”

“God, no! No, I mean...No. He got it right. I...I just can’t…” Dean drew in a deep breath through his nose. “You don’t need to do this. I don’t know what my brother said, but…”

Castiel shrugged. His smile was subdued as always, but his eyes were bright and blue. “Your brother is a nice enough guy. He said you were a fan, and it’s your birthday. So happy birthday.”

“It’s a good number.”

“What?”

Dean nearly swallowed his tongue. “I don’t…” He sighed and closed his eyes as he felt his face heat with humiliation.

The man was watching him curiously when his eyes opened again. “Are you all right? Look, it’s Dean, right? Dean, I’m seriously nobody to get flustered about. I’m not. Did you...have any questions for me or anything?”

“So many,” he breathed.

The soft amusement was not unkind. Castiel nodded his encouragement. “Yeah? Hit me.”

A thousand thoughts were streaming through his mind all at once. Finally, he settled on one. “Why, why, why would you ever want to put your life out there for the world to consume? I mean...isn’t that terrifying? And horrible?”

“Wow. Um...no. I mean, sure, sometimes. When the forums go nuts, and there are conspiracy theories everywhere.”

Dean stared intently, but did not respond.

Castiel’s laugh was a bit short this time. “It’s something you open yourself up to, of course, when you choose to do this. But...people get to where they think they know everything about you, just because they see you once a week in a little video or two.”

“I like weeks when you put out two.”

He snorted softly. “Yeah. It’s only when I really feel like there’s something that needs to be said, something I don’t hear other people saying.”

“I wish people who had the power to do something were the ones listening.”

Castiel shrugged again. “Yeah. So do I.” He seemed to shake himself then. “But that’s all right. You’re listening. What’s been your favorite segment? How many have you seen?”

“All of them.”

Dark eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Um, good. Do you have a favorite?”

“I like the political stuff, and your reviews of games and things, but when I go into the archives, it’s usually to watch your outtakes.”

A surprised laugh burst out of the beautiful man. “The screw ups? That’s your favorite?”

Dean was only vaguely aware of how much he was blushing. “I like watching you laugh,” he breathed. “And I really like a guy who can laugh at himself. I admire the confidence. And...and let’s be honest, you’ve got a great smile.” He cleared his throat then. “I mean, not that...not that you want to hear that from another guy. I’m just saying. The girls in the forums obviously think so. They’re stupid for it.” Dean’s anxiety was overwhelmed by the surreal situation. He had felt his hands reach for a cereal bowl four times now. It was exactly like every morning, except that this was real. Castiel was really there, really talking to him. To him! He hadn’t decided not to murder Sam when he saw him next, but if he didn’t, he was probably going to kiss him.

There was the funny little head tilt the man did, and it made Dean’s stomach tighten to see it. “I don’t mind hearing that from a guy. Like I said, the folks on the forum think they know everything about me. They don’t.”

Dean blinked twice. “What...what does that mean?”

“Hannah’s just a friend,” he said quietly. “And so is Balt, and the rest of them. But if one of them were going to be more...I lean more toward Balt. You know?”

Dean's breath caught again, and he had to cough it out. "I...oh. Um. Me too."

Castiel smiled kindly. "I guess I figured that. So what do you do, Dean?"

"Do? Um, I write. Things."

There was a cackle then, and it made his face even hotter. "You're so good with words; I can tell."

Dean scowled, and sat up a little straighter. "My pen name is Michael Colt."

It was with great satisfaction that he watched Castiel's mouth drop open.

He smirked at him.

"Michael Colt? The guy that wrote _Dead in the Water_? That was you?"

"Yup."

"And-and you're star struck by me? What the...Dude, you're Michael Colt!" Castiel was laughing now. "I even talked about one of your books on the show once!"

"I know. That's how I found you. My publicist, Carver, said some guy was ripping _Bloodlines_ apart on his blog. So I watched it, and I've watched you every morning since then."

"Well, yeah! _Bloodlines_...Talk about a round peg in a square hole! But your other stuff is awesome!"

Dean smirked. His shyness was fading. "Yet you don't talk about the ones you did like."

"Whoa whoa. I remember mentioning that the reason I was so disappointed in _Bloodlines_ wasn't because it wasn't fine by itself, in its own universe. It was because it fit so badly into the series, like you'd totally forgotten what the whole series was about!"

"So...you've read them all?"

Castiel began to laugh, and shook his head. "This is awesome. No, you know what? This is a show!”

“Uh-A what?”

“You kidding? Saying Michael Colt found me bitching about my favorite series, and became a fan? That’s...that’s fantastic. That’s wonderful!”

Dean cringed. “Okay, say whatever you want. But I...don’t do interviews.”

Castiel nodded, and sobered a little. “Yeah. I can see that. Okay. That’s all right. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. So tell me more. What do you do? You write all day?”

The cringe turned into a wince. “I don’t write as much as I used to. Michael Colt has been on a shelf for a while. My royalties keep up, but as for new material...I don’t see that happening.”

Castiel looked as though he had been slapped. “What, you’re done? Forever?”

“For now.”

“But...you can’t! I mean...Sal and Harrison just unleashed the freaking Darkness on the world! How can you stop there?”

“Maybe that’s how it ends. I don’t know what to tell you, man. I don’t write anymore. Michael Colt is done. Dean Winchester keeps himself busy filling orders online for autographed merch. The publisher doesn’t even want me doing that. But I gotta do something, and I’m too screwed up to leave the house. So I hand-sign everything, and I answer fan mail, and I drink a lot. Sal and Harrison are on their own.”

“That’s the most horrible thing I ever heard. I won’t let you do that.”

A laugh punched out of Dean’s chest. “Yeah? You’re going to call me and talk me through every bout of anxiety that keeps me from being able to clear my head and write?”

But Castiel didn’t laugh. “Yes. No, you’re going to call me. And I’m going to talk you through it.”

For all the blushing Dean had done in the last quarter hour, he now felt his face run pale gray. “No. That’s not-I can’t do that. You’re freaking Castiel Zanj. I literally watch you every freaking morning.”

The blue eyes narrowed in confusion. “Every morning? But I only produce-”

He wanted to bang his head into the table. “Every morning,” he confirmed. “I watch archives, outtakes, or I rewatch that week’s gift every single morning.”

There came a soft smile over Castiel's beautiful face. "Then, instead of watching my show, why don't we do this?"

"This what?"

"This. Call me. I'll have breakfast with you."

Now Dean was certain he was losing all blood above the neck. "Wh-why would you do that? Dude, you don't want to do that. I'm a mess. My brother will tell you. He tells me all the time, and he ain't wrong. I'm a complete freak."

"Because I'm not?"

"What show have you been watching? You're brilliant! And kind of beautiful." Dean closed his eyes in a flinch.

But Castiel was laughing. "Let's try it. Will you? Will you call me in the morning?"

Dean nodded with a sigh. "You're Castiel Zanj," he whimpered.

"And you're Michael Colt. So let's fanboy over one another, over breakfast tomorrow morning. I used my private account to call you, so just return the call. What time?"

The next few minutes were surreal and terrifying. The next few weeks were entirely amazing. Dean's routines continued as before, but when he turned on his laptop in the morning, it was to find Castiel chomping at the bit to chat. Their conversations became less and less about Castiel's show and Dean's books, and more and more about other things. Castiel told Dean about his enormous desire to help humanity somehow, his sense of urgency in doing so, which drove him daily. Dean told him about the fire that had taken his mother and his sense of security, the way he had worked so hard to overcome the strangling fear in his life, then he and Sam had lost their father in a car crash which had included a fire, and his fear and obsessions became worse than ever before.

The calls extended beyond the morning before long. They became one another's touchstones. When Castiel was overwhelmed, he called so Dean could make him laugh. When Dean felt panic coming on, he called so Castiel could calm him. After the call when Castiel had told Dean he was beginning to feel like Dean filled a void in his life, that he looked forward to seeing his face and hearing his voice like nothing else in his life, Dean had thrown himself back into writing, tackling his eleventh book in the _Preternatural_ series with a renewed thrill. The two reporters, Sal and Harrison, who had started out so long ago researching urban legends and had stumbled upon an entire world of magic and horror, were back in action, fighting a pre-Biblical force called The Darkness like the brothers they had become.

After the call when Castiel said he wanted to visit Dean, because he had something to say in person, Dean had called Sam immediately.

"Dude. Three in the morning. Your house is not on fire, and neither is mine. It was a dream. Go the fuck back to sleep."

"No, I'm not..." Dean frowned. "How the hell would you know if my house was on fire?"

"What?"

"Is that what you tell me when I wake up from a nightmare? The house isn't on fire? And I just take that and go back to sleep?"

"It's always worked before. You're never actually awake when you call. You just want me to say I'm safe and your place isn't-"

"Wow. Okay, no. That isn't why I called."

"I've got to be in court in a few hours. Talk faster."

"Is that Dean? Dean, you okay?"

"He's fine."

His frown deepened. "You don't know that. Stop reassuring people without adequate information!"

"Are you on fire?"

"No," he admitted.

"You bleeding from anywhere vital?"

"This is why I wrote Sal as soulless in book six, you know."

"I'm going back to sleep."

He whimpered vocally.

His brother heaved a sigh. "Okay. Okay, I'm up. I'll make some coffee. You coming over or we going to do this on the phone?"

"It would take me two hours to be ready to drive across town. Of course I'm not coming over."

"Right. Okay. Babe, I'm going to go talk Dean off a ledge. Keep my side warm, will you?"

"You're a good baby brother," Sarah assured him.

"Yes I am."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I should have let you starve as a kid."

"Then who would talk you off ledges now?" He yawned. "Okay. I'm in the kitchen. What's the matter with you?"

"Aside from the usual? Castiel wants to visit."

He could practically hear Sam rubbing his face with his massive hand. "Okay. Scary but not four alarm, all hands on deck at three in the morning kind of situation."

"I'm in love with him."

There was a pause. "Wait. What?"

Dean's breath was coming too quickly now. "I'm in love with him, and he's going to see what an actual mess I am, and he's going to leave, and I'm just going to throw up until I die."

"Whoa! Wait, whoa. Dean! He's coming because he likes you, right? And he can't have chatted with you for almost three months without finding out you're a complete freak."

"That's...probably true."

Sam was rolling his eyes. He knew it. "Look. Remember writing about Harrison going and finding that girl and her kid when Sal and the Devil were trapped in that cage by that demon guy Crowley?"

"So?"

"So wasn't Harrison scared to death? Never made a commitment to anybody in his life except Sal, never needing anybody? He didn't know Crowley was going to release Sal to go hunt alphas, with his soul for collateral, right? Harrison, he thought Sal was gone for good. And he was going to commit to this chick forever. Would have if Sal hadn't turned up."

Dean shrugged a little. "Well, I mean, he would have tried; he loved her and the kid, but-"

"The point is he took that chance. He watched the only person in the world he ever cared about get pulled screaming into a freaking giant hole in the ground. He knows that life is over. He didn't forget Sal. He just made himself take some comfort and let himself fall in love, even though he himself was an utter, complete-"

"Mess," Dean finished quietly.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "A complete mess. And you know how that went. She loved him through that, because Harrison as a mess was still a pretty fantastic guy. It was worth whatever hassle that came with it. He was worth it."

Dean was silent for a moment, taking it all in. Then he snickered. "You were so pissed, thinking I'd killed Sal off at the end of Swan Dive."

"Oh, shut up. I'm going back to bed."

"Sammy, thank you. I-I'm not Harrison. I could never be that guy. But...but you always seemed to think I could have been."

"No. You could have been better than Harrison, because I would have been at your side, kicking so much ass, instead of Sal. Real brothers, saving the world, hunting things."

"Yeah. And then the fans probably wouldn't have all those theories about them being in love with each other, if they really were brothers."

"Probably not. That'd be weird."

Dean sighed. "You kind of always treated me like a hero, even while you were telling me I was a mess."

"That's because you'll always be my hero. You're my big brother, man. You may not believe it, but nobody could convince me there's anything you can't do. Now go the fuck to sleep, jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam laughed, and then Dean heard the click that let him know his lifeline was disconnected. It would be frightening if he didn't know he and Sam would always be connected at the soul.

He took a deep breath, set the phone down, and went to the sink to wash his hands.

So Castiel wanted to visit. Okay. Fine. Let him visit. Let him see the mess for what it was. Dean would be ready for him.


	4. Wait Here Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom Petty was right. The waiting is the hardest part.

The sheer amount of preparation that went into Castiel's visit was exhausting. Dr. Anael had scheduled a vacation after the week that lead to it. Sam had been forced to let Sarah pinch hit at night when Dean couldn't sleep, and they took to alternating or playing rock-paper-scissors for phone calls.

When the day came, Dean increased his dose of chemical assistance, and balanced out his anxiety to its usual ridiculous but familiar level. It even took the edge off enough so he could sit outside on the porch when Castiel texted to say he was five minutes out.

It wasn't that Dean couldn't go outside. He liked to be outside. Before John's accident, he had spent most of his days in his garden or on hikes nearby. He didn't hunt like he and Sam had as kids, but he had always enjoyed being outdoors. After the crash, though, he had not wanted to be away from his home. He needed to be there, to be sure everything was all right.

People didn't come into his home. Only Sam, and sometimes his wife. They knew the rules. They knew not to take their shoes off in case they needed to leave quickly. They knew not to turn on the oven, stove, microwave or any other appliance unless Dean was there to monitor it. They knew to wash their hands upon entering the house, and they knew not to bring paper into it.

A stab of anxiety struck him. What if Castiel brought paper? He didn't want to have to tell him he couldn't. But he wasn't sure he would be able to allow it inside.

Dr. Anael had already addressed this concern. "Dean, if that happens, what do you think you'll do?"

"I don't know."

"You know that fires do not come from paper. You know they burn but they don't cause the fire."

"I know."

"If Cas brings paper, maybe some things he needs to work on over the weekend, maybe some mail or a newspaper, what is realistically the worst thing that could happen? Realistically?"

"I'm guessing enormous balls of flames isn't what you're getting at."

"No, Dean. It's going to be fine. You've got to stop worrying about how many ways this could go wrong. Your friend is going to some effort and expense to come see you. You say he's smart."

"Brilliant," he sighed.

"Then trust his judgement. He's not going to bring something that could hurt you or your home."

He had swallowed twice before whimpering his next words. "Isn't just my home, you know?"

"I know, Dean."

"If Sammy ever needed someplace to be safe, if he ever needed someplace he could go and be taken care of, I...I have to have a place for Sam if something happens to him. A safe place."

She nodded sadly. "I know, Dean. But Sam isn't an infant anymore. He isn't a child. You're more than Sam's big brother. You know that. Your life, your time means more than just waiting until Sam needs you again. You took good care of Sam, and your father, after your mother passed. But it's time to let that role go. Your father is gone now, and your brother is happy and safe, and very capable of taking care of himself. You made sure of that, Dean. Remember? You told me what you taught him, as a child, told me how you encouraged him and pushed him to always be better, stronger, to be what you knew he could be. And now he is in a healthy marriage, has a challenging, fulfilling job he's good at, and has hobbies that make him happy."

Dean had smiled down at his hands then. "He's done so well. I'm so proud of him."

"And you've done well too, Dean. Your own career? That wasn't just something to do while you waited for Sam to need you again. Was it?"

"No, ma'am. Not...entirely."

"You can do this, Dean. You're not letting your brother down by letting yourself build this friendship. You'll always be there for Sam if he needs you. He knows that. You can't keep your life on hold in case he needs you. Do you see the difference?"

Of course he saw the difference. He wasn't an idiot. He just didn't want there to be a difference. He didn't need anything else. He had his computer and his e-reader, and he didn't really need anything else. He could just keep the house safe every day until Sam came back.

Dean didn't want Sam to come back. He adored Sarah, and the way she made his brother so happy. He loved that Sam jogged regularly but was still developing a tiny paunch because Sarah baked to destress. He laughed every time Sam caught himself going on and on about a case he was working, because he was too excited for his big brother to cut him off. He even liked hearing the Impala pull up into the driveway because he knew how proud Sam was of it.

"Awesome," Dean sighed. Now he was thinking about how long it had been since he checked the Impala's oil, and given it a tune-up, and was Sam driving around in a gorgeous classic that could fail him at any time-But it would be Dean failing him-again-always-and if he hadn't checked the oil, that probably meant it had been at least a month since he had checked the tires or checked online to see if there were recalls for the 1967 parts, and that was unacceptable, just unacceptable-

And there was a Prius in his drive. A Prius which would be completely crushed if it were hit by a semi the way John's truck had been, and Castiel would be crushed, and no one could tell Dean that car wouldn't burst into flames, because he knew it would, and he would be forced to hope Castiel had been killed on impact, like they said his father had been, but Dean would still dream of him burning to death like he dreamed about his mother and John, and the brother who never seemed to make it out in his dreams because Dean wasn't strong enough to carry him, and for that matter, could he carry the moose now that he was all grown up and freakishly large, and how large was Castiel in person anyway; could he be carried out if a place caught fire-

Dean was hyperventilating by the time Castiel stepped out of the hybrid. He was lightheaded.

But his breath caught in his throat when he saw the man.

The eyes. Holy crap, the eyes. No camera would ever catch the way they smiled when his lips did, which...which he was doing. Right frigging now.

Dean needed to throw up.

***

Castiel double-checked the address. It wasn't like him to be so nervous about anything. Balt and Hannah had often joked that poor Castiel didn't have enough social skills to know to be insecure. He was inclined to agree with that assessment, though he would argue that Hannah wasn't a great deal better. Even he made references she didn't get, and she always seemed exasperated with other humans. It was true that he didn't know when it was appropriate to be self-conscious, but at least he liked humanity. He was never entirely sure if Hannah did.

Castiel was self-conscious now. He hoped it didn't show.

One look at Dean sitting on the porch with that soft smile on his face made his whole body warm.

What was protocol for greeting a man you had essentially been helplessly in love with for three months? He would almost rather Dean didn't touch him at all than shake his hand. When he had said that to Hannah that morning, she had rolled her eyes. She had been doing that a lot in the past few months.

"God, I'm so glad you turned out to be gay. We would have been a terrible couple. You would have made me crazy."

Castiel had sighed. "This is the worst pep talk of all time."

Balt had been even less help on the drive over. He had called for moral support, and immediately wished he hadn't.

"The moment you get there, you should back him against a wall. Any wall. The closest wall."

"So he gets how serious I am?"

"So you don't waste any time talking when you could be screwing. You'll only be there two nights. Weekend warrior and all that."

"You're exactly zero help."

So here he was, with no advice from his two best friends on what to do as he stepped closer to the man he had ached to touch for so many weeks.

But as he approached, he saw that Dean's face was gray, that the man was not nervous like he was; he was actually afraid. All his own worries melted away, and he lowered himself gracefully to a knee in front of a large, trembling body. All the fretting was for nothing, when one look into those wide green eyes told him exactly what to do.

He took the hands Dean was wringing into his own. "I promise I just washed them," he said with a patient smile. He had. Antibacterial wipes, it turned out, were sold in packages at gas stations.

The gray turned pink in an instant, and Dean gave a tiny chuckle. "Thank you."

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. "I'm so, so glad to finally meet you." He licked his lips and glanced down at Dean's. "I used mouthwash too. Could I kiss you?"

Dean's mouth was on his before he could breathe again.

Castiel felt his every muscle stinging with excitement. He parted his lips on Dean's, felt the heat of breath and the smooth taste of flesh between his tongue and teeth, heard the whimper, sensed Dean relaxing into the kiss, just as Castiel himself was tensing into a coil of explosive arousal.

It left his lips and tongue and skin tingling in giddy pleasure as their mouths softly gave way, reluctantly. Castiel leaned his forehead on Dean's as he caught his breath and tried to calm his wayward heartbeat.

"I wanted that from the minute you said my name. Holy shit, you're Castiel Zanj." He laughed quietly. "God, I've wanted that so much."

"Cas," Dean sighed. The eyes slipped closed.

"Dean, I came because I wanted to say something to you. I live a whole life in front of a camera, for the world to see, but there are some things...some things I think should be face to face."

The man nodded slowly, but did not open his eyes.

Castiel moved away so he could see Dean's face, but he continued to grip the man's strong hands.

"Dean, I'm completely in love with you."

There was a tiny intake of breath before the eyes opened to stare at him with what looked like warning, as if he were silently ordering Castiel to tell the truth.

He smiled happily. "Dean? I've never met anyone like you. I'm falling so hard, and I just wanted to tell you that while I held your hand." He looked down. "Which I can let go of now if you want."

"You make me want to never wash it again," the man breathed voicelessly.

He dipped his chin and laughed quietly.

"I love you, Cas."

He had thought he had known. He had been so sure. This was not some celebrity crush, he told himself night after night as their conversation lasted later every time. This was not that. Maybe...maybe it had started that way, but Dean knew the real him now. But part of him still worried that this was still just a game to Dean.

He could see now that it never had been.

"Could we...do this? Do you think we could do this?"

He watched the man swallow, take small breaths, and nod. "I want to try. Cas, I've been so afraid to love anybody else. Everyone I love gets hurt. I've been waiting all my life for something to take my brother from me, and now his wife. I just...I never let myself care about anyone else. I can't...I can't lose anyone else. And I'm just so tired of going over every scenario in my head that could possibly break my heart again, another person I love that I can't save. I spend my whole life thinking of everything that could go wrong."

"I know. I've read your books," Castiel teased gently. He lifted himself to sit beside him.

Dean huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Not so much fun in real life. I'm so tired, Cas. I sleep four hours a night at most, and even then, I can't stop thinking of all the things that could hurt the people I love."

Castiel understood. "You didn't want one more person to worry about."

"I'm so tired," he sighed.

Castiel put his arm around him cautiously, and smiled as he felt the larger man lean into him. He liked that. He wanted Dean to feel safe, and he wanted to take on some of his burden. He was relieved that Dean seemed ready to let someone do that. And it was a relief to Castiel, too, that all of his own energy was turned away from the intense world issues he obsessed over daily, and turned toward just one sweet man who needed to be loved. Dean was centering him.

Maybe...maybe for Castiel, that was what it meant to fall in love. He had spent most of his adult life thinking he had more important things to worry about, loftier things, things of a more universal concern, that love would be a distraction from everything he wanted to accomplish.

But now he looked at Dean, and he realized perhaps the falling didn't end in hitting the ground, but in being grounded. And from the place where he fell, something new and strong could grow, something rooted in love and support and confidence, and he could climb it to reach the things he dreamed about. Perhaps the best way to love humanity was to allow love in his own life, and to learn it at its most intimate scale, with one man whose strength of character and fierce loyalty shone through his fear.

"I know you are, Dean," he whispered finally, wrapping his arms tighter around the man he loved. "I know you're tired. And I'm here to help you sleep. I'll watch over you."


	5. Fine

Castiel dropped his weight into a chair wearily. 

The man across from him was smirking. “How are plans coming?”

He lowered his head to his palm. “The most acceptable date is seven years from now.”

Sam snickered. “You did say you were in it for the long haul.”

“Of course I am. I had just hoped the long haul would begin in this decade.”

His friend’s laughter heartened him a little. “He’ll find a different number and convince himself it's fine.”

“Fine isn't good enough, Sam,” Castiel intoned dryly. “He's already gone through seven years on the calendar. Twice. There are plenty of fine dates. But no perfect ones. He's in there now explaining to me why it must not fall on a Friday, no matter what the date.”

“Does he know you've walked away?”

“I imagine he’ll notice eventually. If I didn't walk away once in awhile, he would starve to death.”

Sam laughed. “So are we ordering in? There's a pretty complicated system for doing that, you know.”

Castiel smiled wearily. “Oh, I know. I stupidly suggested Chinese when I visited a few weeks ago.”

“We enable his neurosis, you know.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I've spent a lot of time thinking about that, and I met his doctor, who I like very much, and she explained it to me this way. If something Dean obsesses over keeps me from my life outside of him, we need to deal with it. If not, I can let it go, and let her deal with it.”

Sam smiled. “She said something similar to me once. That so long as his crazy doesn't bleed over into my life outside him, I can just let him be himself. But, dude, of course it bleeds over. When he wakes me up after a nightmare, that's lost sleep that affects me in the morning. And I'm used to it, and I don't mind, but that's not the same as it not affecting my life. He's my big brother, and so it's fine. But you...Maybe you need to put your foot down some.”

The man had a gentle smile on his face now. “I do sometimes,” he murmured. “He falls apart when I'm driving back to my place. He tries to make me call at every ten miles. And I call him when I get home instead. I know he spends the whole time convinced I'm dead. But I can't address every fear and worry. I never forget to call once I'm home safe. He needs that. He doesn't need a call every ten miles.”

Sam snorted. “You're further along than I was till I got married. The ten mile rule was a pain in the ass before I could get a cellphone.”

Castiel laughed. 

“Cas?” A third figure came wandering out of the bedroom. “Cas, I'm done with Fridays. It's safe to come back now,” he groaned miserably. 

The voice went straight to Castiel's heart. He jumped up, ignoring Sam's knowing smirk, and put his arms around Dean. 

He accepted the hug with his hands still shoved in his pockets, but rested his head on Castiel's shoulder. When he slumped in defeat like this, they were the same height. 

“It's okay. We're okay,” he murmured. “I just needed a break. You know that.”

Exhaustion sparkled in his eyes in the form of tears. “Yeah. I know.”

Sam took a deep breath, and stood. “Guys, I'm going to order some food, then get some work done on my laptop till it gets here. If you need me, yell.”

“Be sure-”

“I know how to order a pizza, Dean,” his brother called back. 

The older man nodded, and chewed on his lip to keep from giving the instructions anyway.

When his friend had left the room, Castiel took Dean's head gently in his hands, and put their foreheads together. “It's okay. We're okay.”

The words soothed Dean like magic, helped his muscles and his jaw relax. Those four words had become his touchstone, to bring him back when the current of worries and fears was carrying him off. 

“I love you,” he added in a whisper. 

Dean's eyes closed, and a tear slipped down his cheek, making Castiel's chest constrict. “I'm not worth all this, and you know it. Why are we even pretending like we're going to make it to a wedding, let alone forever after? It's a nice fantasy, but that's all it is.”

“Dean, I love you.”

“I can't even pick a date, or decide about names, or figure out what to do about the uneven number of guests, or-”

“I told you I'd invite my cousin Gabe to make it an even ten.”

Gratitude shone in his eyes now, even as another tear escaped his long lashes. “But what if he doesn't come? Or what if only Sam and Sarah and Hannah come? There's no fixing that!”

He kissed Dean's nose gently. “If only Sam and Sarah and Hannah come, there will be five of us, and that's your favorite number.”

“One of them would have to officiate, because otherwise, it'll be six,” he grumbled. “And see? I can't think about my own wedding without seeing numbers, and fires and-”

“Shh. It's okay. We're okay.”

“But I should be thinking of how much I love you, and instead, I'm trying to think of how to evacuate everyone from a tent filled with smoke. It's a goddamn tent! The whole damn point of a tent is that it's outside, and it's not going to catch fire spontaneously. It's open to the air. If somehow it filled with smoke, it would just blow away, or we could simply walk out of it.”

“I'm glad you recognize that. And acknowledge it.”

Dean rolled his eyes up, and now tears streamed down his face unchecked. “I recognize and acknowledge that it's all a nice fantasy, that there's no way we will ever get there, and that's just as well!”

Castiel frowned suddenly, and stepped back. “What's that mean?”

“I don't want this for you!” he cried out. “I want you to be happy in a-a healthy relationship where you don't have to deal with this shit! I love you so much, Cas! And I want better for you!”

He listened, his frown deepening with every word. 

“You're Castiel Zanj! You have so many people who adore you. Why are you here, man?”

“Because this is where you are.”

Dean laughed bitterly, spilling tears, and pulling his hands away from Castiel's to wipe at them furiously. “And that's why you should be anywhere else. I'm better than I've ever been, Cas, but I'm never going to be good. Do you get that? Maybe-God, maybe you think this is going to go away someday. Is that it? You're counting on me getting better? Because I'm not going to! This is going to be your life, Cas, day in and out, and I'm not going to do it to you.”

His voice deepened into a rumble. “So, what? You're calling off the wedding? You're leaving me, telling me to go?”

Those gorgeous long lashes kept blinking, kept spilling tears, even as Dean tried to glare past them. “Maybe I am. Maybe I'm going to do what I should have done weeks ago. Months ago. Maybe...maybe…”

Castiel smiled sadly. “Maybe you'll break my heart? Dean, we both have compulsive personalities, okay? Yours is a little more obvious, but read my forums, man. When they're not trying to ship me with Balt, or figure out who you are, they're theorizing about all the mental illnesses I'm fighting. I'm not saying it's like what you go through, sweetheart, but I'm saying I'm not perfect either. I obsess too. Differently. But I do. And I'm grounded when I'm with you. That's what matters. I like me when I'm with you.”

Dean stared at him. “How do you do that?”

He lifted an eyebrow in question. 

“You make it seem...You make it seem like I'm the one who puts up with your issues.”

His lover smiled at him softly. “Dean, you love me. That amazes me every day. And you know what? You would kill or die for me, or your brother and his wife, and probably any innocent stranger in need. You're every bit the hero your character Harrison is. Do you get that? I loved those books long before I met the author, and I have been in awe of Harrison since that first book. Why do you think I hated Bloodlines so much? Harrison got like three lines in the whole thing, and it was totally out of character!”

Dean scowled. 

“Harrison would never have left that city before taking care of business.”

“I get it. You hate Bloodlines. Join the club. No, really, there's a club. Not even I like Bloodlines.”

He laughed in a quiet tone. “Point is, sweetheart, I was head over heels for Harrison the minute he told Sal that the driver picked the music. And since I've been with you, I hear all of his best lines in your voice.”

“Because he's a sarcastic pain in the ass?”

“Because he's a charismatic hero. Because he's never certain he's doing the right thing, but he's always going to try. Because that angel buddy of his, Amandriel knows he can trust him with his life and his faith. Because Sal gives everything for him, and has never been sorry.”

Dean took a long breath. “The angel possession thing-”

But his lover shook his head firmly. “You may have written them, but I've met them. Sal has never been sorry he chose this life. Because Harrison will never let him down.”

Tears sparkled in those green eyes again. “I'm not Harrison. And Sal and Amandriel shouldn't put so much faith in him anyway. He screws up, all the time.”

“And when he's wrong, he's wrong for the right reason. For the greater good. For his family. Because in his mind, his friends are family, and nothing comes before that for Harrison. There's nothing that means more to him. Yeah, he can be a sarcastic assbutt. But he's a hero. And he loves so hard, it keeps him up at night worrying about the people he loves. Would Harrison ever leave Sal behind? Or even Amandriel?”

“Never. Not so long as he's truly in his right mind. But, Cas, that's the problem, isn't it? I'm never in my right mind! I'm not Harrison! I'm not even really Michael Colt. I'm just Dean. And unlike Harrison, who is a badass, and Michael, who is an accomplished writer, Dean is nothing but a coward and a worthless mess.”

Castiel felt himself flinch. “Please don't,” he murmured. “That's the man I love.” It was spoken so softly that he wasn't even sure Dean could hear. He took a deep breath and sighed it out. “That's my husband.”

Dean closed his eyes. 

“You are entitled to your opinion. But you're wrong. And you don't get to do that. I did a whole segment on subtle domestic abuse. And the guest expert said over and over that lack of respect in a relationship is poison.”

The green eyes snapped back open. “How can you say that? I respect you! I respect-”

“But you don't show respect for the man I love. And I'm going to have to demand that you do. Beginning right now.”

It was rare that Dean was actually speechless. But he stared at his lover with an open mouth, as nothing came out of it. 

“Dean, your fears and worries and insecurities are all real and important. But you do not get to be hateful to the man I love. He's not a coward. Not in any way. He's strong, and beautiful, and sometimes he's afraid. He's my hero. He makes me laugh, and he inspires me. I will never pretend he's perfect. But he's perfect for me. I love him, and that's reason enough for you to show him some respect. Maybe even a little kindness too. He's had a lot of hurt in his life, and he's had to work very hard. He deserves every ounce of love and respect we have. He's my hero, and you will not call him worthless ever again. Not if you truly love me.”

A tear slipped down Dean's cheek. “I do love you, Cas. I just want to...I hate feeling like a burden. I hate it so much.”

Castiel reached up to touch his face, soothing the hot tears. “I know. So I'll tell you every day all the ways you're making my life better just by being in it. And maybe one day you'll be able to see why Dean Winchester is my favorite character.”

“I love you so much,” he breathed. “Let's set a date. There were a few in the fall that weren't perfect, but were fine.”

Castiel smiled with relief. “Dean, we will never be perfect. But we will always be just fine. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little quirky romance. 
> 
> Comments keep me writing!


End file.
